this imploding heart

keep on running

I had an epiphany this morning: Maybe I've been so tired because at least one meal a day for the last 3 weeks has been entirely composed of watermelon, and most of the other meals were made of bagels.

I failed miserably to be at all helpful on the Crafty front last night. I contributed beer and self-centeredness, and only one of those things helps get the job done.

I picked up 2 grocery bags of misc. condiments and scootered them over to the new house, put all the mustards and salad dressings away, and tried to go to bed.

But my new house is kind of...scary. Right now.

I noticed last time I was at my mom and dads Idaho location that I get really nervous sleeping in regular houses now. I've been so used to there being an outer front door and an inner front door in my living situation that it seems really weird to think that all someone has to do is walk in.

Possibly someone scary.

While being absolutely wonderful and helping my dad move the cedar chest last night, Josh pointed out that 1: I broke into the windows of my apartment at the LaRoy all the time and 2: The Summit is a total crack house. This was meant to assure me that nothing is going to happen. But I still think someone is going to creep through the door and be right there, and THEN what am I going to do?

at 12:45 am, I called Cake.

"Hello?"

"IT'S TOO HOT TO SLEEP WITH THE WINDOW CLOSED AND SOMEBODY IS GOING TO STAB ME IN THE EYEBALL!"

"First off, no one is going to stab you in the eyeball. Second, you have blinds and screens, right?"

"Mrrhmm."

"If anybody tries to come through the little slot in the window, the screen and the blinds, you're going to hear it."

"AAAAUGH! What will I do if I hear something?"

"What do you think you'll do?"

"RUN THE FUCK AWAY! ARE YOU CRAZY!?"

"Good girl. Goodnight sweetheart."

New places are almost always like this for me. Not only have I not yet warmed to the house being mine, but the house hasn't warmed to me being it's yet, either. The new ghosts haven't had time to adjust to the new furniture arrangement and the plumbing noises are unfamiliar.

I went to bed with the windows open, but not without doing my patented 'Ooga Booga, Scare-ga You-ga' dance. Which is pretty much just me running around the house and turning lights on and off so it looks like lots of people are doing things.

livin' it up

Since the beginning of June, or maybe even the middle of May, all the permanance in my life has been in flux.

When I first called Tiny and said 'Hey, I'm just throwing this out there...do you want to move to New York for the entire month of June?", I assumed that the trip would be like going to the dentist in the middle of a workday. You work until it's dentist time, you go, you come back and start working again and there's a good chance no one has noticed that you left at all. Maybe you come back a little novocain-ey and weird-smelling, but that's about it.

Within 2 weeks, my boyfriend was practically pushing me away from him, but swore he still wanted me to come over. Within 4 weeks Tiny and I had abandoned our apartment and dropped into Brooklyn. In 6 weeks I was spending every day tooling around parks in flip flops and I found out Tiny was leaving permanently. In 8 she was gone and I was in a giant city composed of a million duplicates of a tiny city, alone, and starting to feel the tendrils of normalcy come curling around my toes.

By 9 weeks, I was back in Seattle minus one Tiny, minus one NYC, one month away from minus one place to live, plus one Cake and plus two parents.

But things are starting to normalize again. Now that my shoes, dresses and underwear are in the same place as my records and alarm clock and I've got beautiful women in my home again, I'm starting to feel like life is more the delightful Tilt-a-Whirl than the deadly sick-making wooden rollercoaster that may or may not throw me to my death.

When I look back though, I see the infinite number of possible outcomes. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened...if Ohio...if Sailors....if Skull Rings...if Swedish.

You're a testament to youth in verse

Yes, it's still all about moving.

The Summit, she is a-molding. After the great flood of ought-four, the building manager had a carpet cleaner come in and vaccuum up the water, then he put a big fan in the closet to 'dry it out'. Remember that whole 'enough water to fill a large mixing bowl every few minutes' description? Doesn't it seem that if that much water was coming through the holes in the floor, that you might...I dunno... pull up the carpet and get into the surrounding walls? Maybe?

The closet in Tiny's old room is bursting with mold spores now, and the carpet that got wet is positively crunchy. The hallway smells like dead wet dog.

But I'm moving out of it, so who cares!

Dad came over and pretty much finished the proverbial research paper last night. His new van is big enough to lay my double bed down flat in, so we were able to take almost everything over in 2 loads. Everything, really, except my clothes-on-hangers and the cedar chest.

Regarding the cedar chest: Dad walked over and simply lifted up his end. "Lets go."

I bent down, established my grip, engaged my leg and butt muscles and hefted with all my might.

Nothing. Not even the slightest little flutter.

"Ha! Don't ever say your old man can't kick your ass."*

*calm it down there, tiger. my dad has never hit or made any moves to hit me in a violent way. All the beatings I get are filled with love.

think it over.

Moving has become the new research paper. No matter how much I finish in a day, The End still seems an eternity away.

Super 8 editor, projector, camera, light and mic? Liquidated!

Guitar, Amp, Accordion, Misc Percussion? On Semi-Permanent Loan!

The kitchen and bathroom are moved and unpacked, so all that remains are the big and heavies. You wanna come over and lift some stuff? I know that you do!

do you remember what the music meant?

Number 305, the heart has left you already.
My father uncoiled its veins from behind the coffee table
He wrapped them together with a rubber band
Careful not to jostle the input/output
and he took the heart of the home away
in the back of a station wagon.

So I will not shake my ass here.
No, I will not sing along here
The heart of the flat has been transplanted
So with it I must go.

crazy feeling, I know you've got me reeling

There is a monster living in the closet in the apartment above mine.

but it doesn't want to terrify the inhabitants of that apartment, really.

It wants to spew it's firey hot water guts through my ceiling, into my closet, destroying and mildewing everything in it's path.

on another note, the owners of my building have a number for emergency maintenance, but nobody answers it. My dad and I went up to the neighbors apartment at 2 in the morning. Dad got the water turned off and the breaker to the element turned off, but still, at 6 this morning when the recoveries across the alley started screaming and playing Phil Collins, the water was dripping enough to fill a large mixing bowl every 3 minutes.

I guess moving is going to be pretty great!

wide wide open

My parents met Cake for the first time in our more than a year and a half of dating last night. The big catch phrase?
"Nice to finally meet you."

It was smooth and easy. Cake ate pasta salad, my mom did all the talking, my dad complained about jam.

I walked Cake down the stairs after my mom and dad had gone to bed.

"Did they notice my tats, you think? The skeleton, specifically."

I shrugged. "They both knew about them beforehand. It's not a big deal."

"You told them?"

"I was talking about you with dad, and I said 'Cake thinks you're not going to like him because he has tattoos. I think you're not going to like him because he has a big mouth.'"

Maybe it's not all, maybe it's not alright

I gave in and gave up the 16mm camera last night, along with a well-tailored green wool dress and another 15-20 pounds of clothing that I'd meant to sell but decided at the last minute to liberate via abandonment as swiftly as possible.

I'm doing great, really. I've been incredibly willing to part with things I really love. But dammit, I WILL NOT GIVE UP MY COCKTAIL DRESSES. They haven't done anything but bring candy-colored joy to thousands of people. And there's no law against candy-colored joy.

I gently stacked my 32 beautiful, flouncy, bouncy babies in the middle of the livingroom floor atop my 4 formal winter coats, like a nest of pastel colored and rhinestone bedecked clouds. My mother had spent the day re-painting an old military footlocker, so I tore the masking tape off and dragged it into the room.

"I don't think they're going to fit in there, Sonie."

"They're gonna fit whether they like it or not, dad."

So we laid the white floor length leather coat and the black and grey faux-fir 3/4 length in the bottom and started rolling my lovely little fashion-fireworks into fabric pasteries. Black first, Pink second, Blues Greens and Purples third, Cream last. Dad rolled the dresses the same way he used to comb my hair; with fixed attention to the foriegn-but-surmountable task at hand.

(The trunk was a 2 person carry job.)

your misfortune and none of my own

"I like western, but not country western." -Dad

Yipi Ti Yi Yo, Don' Cry Ye Little Baby

I didn't really understand the core differences between western and country western music until this weekend. I speculated that perhaps western music held to a traditional value system while country western was the product of the new sex-saturated market, but still easy to sing along with.

Who's Ye Real Daddy May Never Be Known

And while I think that's partially correct, I think there's more to it than that. I think that while country western music can have any number of themes, western music is primarily about work, non-romantic love, horses, and death.

Weepin and Wailin and Rockin the Cradle

My father does not want to listen to music about learned how to swim and I learned who I was, a lot about livin and a little bout love. My father wants to listen to music about completing a day of work and encountering a fellow tradesmen, shot in the breast and dying, and listening to his last humble requests. My father does not want to boot scoot boogie. My father wants to comiserate over the ills of lightening storms while herding animals, or praise the merits of a hardworking roping horse.

Tendin a Baby Thats Ne'er My Own

well it was either at the liquor store or laundromat

I have to stay at work until 9pm tonight, but I don't have to do any real work. All I have to do is sit here and smile at every person that comes in as though I'm personally warmed by their presence at our front door. Or, if they're not supposed to be here, smile as if personally warmed and call the fuzz.

I saw the mess you left up in the east bedroom

The inside of my motorcycle is schellack. Previous to this weekend, I did not know that gasoline could coagulate and harden inside an engine. But now? Now I know.

It was incredibly disorienting to walk into the house I lived in for 18 years and find it entirely void of the things that have ALWAYS BEEN THERE. I know everyone is going to say "Oh, we moved all the time, house is just a house, get over your whining you jerk" etc, but I've never seen this particular structure without These Exact Dishes in This Exact Cupboard. That Particular Sewing Machine has lived in This Particular Corner since before time began for me. (see:1981) I know that my parents, no matter where they're located, will always be my parents, but there's a part of me that considers that house my 3rd parent. Always available, always the same, but always full of things I didn't previously know about.

just because they knew your name

I can't believe I fucking forgot about this!

Roxy and I saw Murder by Death at Graceland last week, and everyone in the world was cornering, close talking and trying to sidewind us.

A girl Roxy knows was at the show, and although she was a perfectly nice person, she's one of those girls who attatches herself to you even if she didn't arrive with you. And then blows her cigarette smoke all over you. I never understand smokers who don't watch where the smoke is going. Seems rude, like drinking directly out of the beer pitcher.

So, Smoky is at the show with a gaggle of boys who're drunk enough that when Smoky introduces us, they're barely able to contain the facial expressions that scream "I WANNA PUT MY PENIS IN THAT! I CAN'T LET ANY OF THE OTHER PENISES GET THERE FIRST!" By way of introduction, Smoky says "Sonya, Roxy, meet Can and Adian. They're from Canada. Don't you want to kiss a Canadian?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I think we'll pass this time."

"Come on! They're so cute!"

Okay now. Who introduces someone they've just met to some guys she's just met and then tries to force them to kiss? First graders, that's who.

Roxy and I do our best to take our conversation elsewhere, when a guy walks up to us. "Hey girls, can I take your picture?"

"Sure"

"Okay, could you hold these flyers?"

Roxy and I look at what he's got in his hand. They're glossy, blue and white airbrushed flyers for Hoobastank. What. The. Fuck.

"Whoa! Nevermind, dude. Sorry. Good luck with your little ad campaign."

Doesn't it seem like, if someone's using your image to sell their product, that they're supposed to pay you? Something like that?

Hoobastank. Ha!

The Canadians then attacked us in the hallway and gave us weird hugs without permission. But Murder by Death was a Rock n Fuckin Roll band.

and I'll forget about you

I'm having a difficult time avoiding coming in and writing about what my dad and I have been talking about. I'm not sure why it's so wildly fascinating...wait...yes I am. My father is wildly fascinating to me because I can almost see his mind working through ideas, and it works a lot like mine. Talking with my dad allows me to understand and experience the conservative viewpoint, because I can put myself in my dad's shoes and think my way, step by step, from Nature Loving to Voting for GWB. I don't agree with a lot of his ideas, but I can logically understand how they all connect to and ignite each other.

I promise to post in a not-dad-related way soon, but I should mention that I have high hopes for the liberalization of his cranky old heart. He's discovered that he really likes the Real Change newspaper, particularly the poetry. Who would've guessed?

and see ourselves for the first time

"I think you need to eat more fish. I think it'd pep you up a little." - Dad

My walk to work involves a lot of skittish j-walking. If you live in Seattle, you know that cars seem to have no idea how to deal with pedestrians, and pedestrians tend to be over hesitant when any vehicle is still in motion. Cars might climb up on the sidewalk and hit you at 7 miles an hour, completely at random, without malice, and for no apparent reason.

I'm trying to be assertive enough that people who're going to stop for me anyway don't have to wait for more than a few seconds, but not so assertive that anyone has to slam on their brakes or...you know...run me over.

So after I avoided the slowcarslowcarslowcarFASTCAR problem on Olive, I stepped out to cross Minor. There were 2 cars approaching the stop sign, and I was in the middle of the intersection before the first arrived.

The driver and passenger were my age, driving a lowered Honda. My legs were about 3 feet from the front grill. The driver revved the engine and bounced forward 2 feet. I stepped out and away, and turned around. The driver started mouthing something at me and motioning with his chin.

Perhaps it should be noted here that it was 7:55am. I'd been awake for maybe 20 minutes at the most. No coffee yet, and I haven't said my first word of the day. For your future reference, If I'm capable of ripping out someone's esophagus, this is when I'm most likely to do it.

So as I was saying before I interrupted myself, I turned around and flared my nostrils and considered my options. My semi-coherent internal monologue was shrieking "YOU COCKSUCKING ASS WALLOWING HOG SHIT! I'LL KNOCK ALL YOUR TEETH OUT AND SHOVE THEM UNDER YOUR FINGERNAILS WITH A WIRE HANGER! I'LL SHOVE ON 'EM TILL THEY COME OUT YOUR MOTERFUCKING URETHRA!"

Dude continued to make absolutely incomprehensible motions with his mouth and face. For as much as I wanted to throw a fit, part of my new plan is to think about how ridiculous it is to watch others have a fit, and instead think of something effective, offensive, and low on effort.

like, oh..I don't know, spitting. Or the dirtiest look you can conjure without turning your body.
I think I'm turning over a new leaf.

but you can't go back and change it

"I'm really worried that I'm going to remember these years as my 'bad hair years'" -Roxy Rogers.

I donated an absolutely painful amount of clothing to Value Village last night. Cheap Tupperware with wildly useful lids that I know in my heart I'm going to need? Toss it! ALF lunchbox that boyfriend I was super in love with brought me chocolate-cake-as-if-by-magic in? Gone! But letting go of that burnt orange and navy Jackie Onasis-ey 3/4 sleeve peacoat? I had to give it a hug and sit with it in my lap for nearly 8 minutes. Same goes for the cap sleeved shirt with Debbie Harry's mug emblazoned on it, the aquamarine and lavender-blue floor length satin formal skirt, and the red and white Woolworths letter sweater.
My father read Readers Digest patiently while I tenderly said goodbye to everything that didn't exactly fit, exactly match, or exactly get worn at least every 3 weeks one season out of the year. He carried the bag out to the car so that I wouldn't change my mind at the last second and pull half of it out.

"You sure get emotional about your clothes."

"Dad, you have no idea how much delight they bring me."

The bag weighed 30 pounds.

My only consolation is that setting clothing free, (much like setting boys free) allows you to replace what you gave up with something better.

your daddy's alright

1: The Hillcrest Market burned down last night. The fire started around six and we could still see them up on ladders spraying water into the walls at 1am.

The crazy thing is this: at one point they were spraying so much water into the structure that a 3 foot high wall of water and candy started rushing out on to the street. There were wrapped chocolate bars and bags of potato chips floating in gutters as far as 4 blocks away.

2: Dad started his new job today. He came into town around seven last night, ("Sonie, something must be on fire down the block, there are cops and ladder trucks going crazy all over."), so he and Roxy and I sat and chatted on the couch for a while.
Every time I see my father now, he tells me something about his life that he's never told me before. When I was a kid, no mention was made of any activity that occurred in the years between his 15th and 23rd years.
Last night, a conversation about taking the greyhound bus prompted my dad to tell me about the 2 times he's ever been approached by a gay man.

A:"One time, when I was about..I dunno...19 or 20? Probably 20. I's on a greyhound to Lakeview, Oregon, back from Mel's up in Kellog. Aaaaand this guy, roundabout mid 30's or so, sits down next to me on the bus. And I don't think nothin' of it, of course. Sooo about an hour into the trip, I'd been sleeping, and I feel somethin on my leg. I kinda wake up and look down, and it's this guys newspaper. So I go back to sleep. Come a few minutes later, I feel somethin on my leg again. And THIS time, it's that guy's hand. I kinda jerked awake at that point and I think he saw I was none too pleased or comfortable. I stayed real wide awake after that, and he got off the greyhound at Ellensburg, and didn't get back on. I didn' know WHAT to think of that."

Perhaps it goes without saying, but my father comes from a time and place that existed prior to -or outside of- Womens Lib, Desegregation, and Gay Rights. For being as old and obstinate as he is, he's getting a lot better about using Asian instead of Oriental (which he trained himself to use instead of Chink or Jap, which is what his father used), and Black or African-American instead of Negro (all of which he has to be very careful about, because Nigger was thrown around loosely until he was in his thirties). He still uses Queer instead of Gay, but I think that'll be fairly easy to change once he gets a little positive exposure. Nothing opens my father's mind faster than friendship.

B: "Then...I guess I must've been round 18 because we could buy beer but not hard alcohol.* Aaand I was at the bar in Kellog with a big group of my buddies, aaand we were drunk. All of us about 18 or 19. And this guy comes in, starts buying us all beers and whiskeys, and we're all thinkin that's pretty good! You know? So we're all drinking and having a good time, and I get up to go to the bathroom, and one of the guys from the bar walks in after me and says 'Hey Son, that guy you're drinkin' with. He's Queer. He's, uh, looking for a good time with you boys.' Well, we're all drunk and me and my buddies, we decide we're gonna kick his ass. Come back to the front of the bar, and he'd already left. Turns out, he's a known pedophile around town, and he LOVES to fight. Big guy. We probably would'a got our asses whooped."

Roxy went home, and dad and I put some water and oil in the car, went to the grocer, and came back to the apartment. He was tired when he showed up, and exhausted by 9. We'd parked the car in the pay lot across the street from my building. When dad had already settled into bed, he realized that he'd left his alarm clock in the car.

"I'll go get it."

"You can't! It's dark out there!"

"Um, Dad. It's 9:30, in July, in Washington. The sun hasn't set yet, and furthermore, NOTHING IS GOING TO HAPPEN. I'm walking ACROSS THE STREET."

"Somebody's going to snatch you up!"

"Dad! How do you think I get around all the time? Nobody's snatched me up yet. I'll be fine."

Dad reluctantly agreed to let me fetch the alarm for him. I opened his toolbox full of clothes and started feeling around for the alarm clock. Church shoes, back brace, work gloves. I folded back a layer of plaid shirts to reveal his electric alarm clock, wind up alarm clock, and the butt of his pistol. I've been looking at that pistol since I was a little girl, but it still always takes me by suprise.

*sidenote: While riding in the car with my parents, My uncle's girlfriend asked me if I drank. The standard operating procedure in my family is that my parents and I do not discuss any activities I participate in that might make them uncomfortable. They don't ask, and I don't bring it up. So I replied, "Um. I don't know.", and my uncle interjected, "Shut up, Cheryl."
After this conversation, my father has elected to tell me several stories that include drinking and being drunk. It is still understood that I will not talk about being drunk, but I'm now free to express an understanding of drunken circumstances.

I'm the perfect boy

Hey! Remember that paper that took me nearly my entire 23rd year to motivate myself to finish? I got it back, and Merlin the Invisible Professor gave me a 3.7. Not bad, but it kind of pisses me off that he doesn't proofread his responses to mailed in assignments, frequently starts new sentences right in the middle of old ones, and misspells like he's drunk. Go, Merlin! Teach the Children!

I'm going to a wedding in my home town on the 17th. It's being held at the camp by the river that all the elementary schools rented for field day every Spring, and all the local churches rented for church camp every summer. It's a few blocks from the house I grew up in. -The house my mother is trying to pack up and move out of after 35 years.- This may be my last trip to Post Falls for a very long time, and I'm spending it in the neighborhoods and forests I know best.

you know that gypsy with the rose tattoo

Whenever I hear 'Natural One', I always have to spend a minute convincing myself that the guys that made that song are Folk Implosion. It's a similar sound, but the mood of that song seems so much different than everything else of theirs.

I kept the commandments and didn't buy any music while I was out of town*. As a result, I can't remember what I was pining after before I left, or figure out what I really want now. To be perfectly honest, I've been spending a lot of time listening to 'Whip Cream and Other Delights' on vinyl and dancing around the livingroom, wishing I had a baton or a hula hoop. Maybe a collection of fans.

Dear Record Store,

I'm coming to your house.

love,

sonya

*(While On Vacation: 1.Thou shalt not purchase records, which are bulky and breakable**. 2. Thou shalt not bring home more books than were on your person when you left. 3. Thou shalt not buy clothes you could buy at home. 4. Thou shalt not buy furniture, no matter how perfect it is.

**unless the record is purchased at a live show from a band you may never see or hear of again. Limit to 3.)

Together we don't like anybody

Know what is turning out to be a total pain in the ass? Working.

I knew I'd feel like this after my glorious thirty-five days of waking up at 11am, walking aimlessly for hours, and then going to bed whenever I fancied. People keep asking for forms and keys and numbers and data entry, and I think to myself 'Why are you fucking asking me, asshat? Get it yourself!'. Then I remember that people are asking me to do things because...you know...it's my *job* to do things. Boo!

Also, Re: the weather.

Last night I had to put on kneesocks, slip, undershirt, t-shirt, sweater and sweatshirt to watch Patrick Opie's soccer game. It's July! This is Crap!

the reflected sound of everything

Last night I found out that my grandfather once had mercury poisoning so bad that he had to be careful not to pull his teeth out by accident. He was a miner and a smoker for most of his (notably short) life.

My mom and dad are moving to Seattle. Dad got a job on the north end, so he'll be sleeping in Tiny's room for a week or so until they find a house to rent here. Last night as we were going to sleep (my mom slept with me and my dad slept in the other room. ) my mom said "It's so funny. Your father and I got engaged and started our life together in Seattle, and now all our children are grown and gone and we're coming back here again."

our dreams were like fugitive warlords

It's my first day back at work, and I'm functioning at about 65%. Not great, but not too bad, either.

I'm going to throw down informational updates today, because a lot of things have happened in the last 6-10 days that may change my life swiftly and significantly, and be very confusing for someone trying to sort it from the outside.

1: Tiny. Tiny had planned to move to sunny California from the moment she moved to Seattle. Seattle was a year long rest-stop, and I think I knew that last year. Through the powers of selective memory, I forgot all about it until the middle of last month, when she casually reminded me that she was moving directly to Cali from NY.
Seattle was never her cup of tea, so this is a good move for her. She got hooked up with a good job and will be finding her first 'All On My Own' place soon. I'll miss her terribly, just like I always do, but I know I'll see her again soon.

2: So where are you going to live, Sonya?
Funny thing, that. The person I most wanted to replace Tiny ended up getting a place with one of her girls while we were away. I was devastated because I thought I was going to have to live alone again or find a new roomate, and both of those options sucked. On my first night back in town, I went to Roxy's new place, where I met the fabulous Suze.
Long story short, their 3rd roomate sucked, so I'm the new, non-sucking 3rd roomate. The house has (TA DA!) a deck and a backyard. Brooklyn showed me the glory, Seatown brought it home.

3: Are you and Cake broken up, or what?

Or What. He was annoyed that I left, and I came back mouthy as hell. We're making adjustments as necessary, but I think all parties are happy.

Those are the updates for now, lovelies. I'm doing my best to act natural and do my job, but I'm seriously considering a career in hula dancing or roller derby.

they've come to keep your pretty things from danger

Hello all. I'm back on the west coast, safe and mostly sound.

Reacclimation to being home has been difficult, so far. A lot of deep rooted splinters worked their way to the surface of my skin while I was away, and the last few days they've been festering and demanding attention.

Tiny isn't coming back, for real. So I've made plans to move in with some lovely ladies on the backside of capitol hill. I'm glad things came together so smoothly, but it was hard to come home to an apartment that will feel empty until I leave it, and to face the fact that I was going to have to pack all my fucking shit up and motherfucking move again. (I'm not a happy mover.)

I spent nearly 2 days wandering around the hill, sometimes getting confused and thinking that I was in Brooklyn, but there had been some kind of bomb that eliminated all the trash and 2/3rds of the people. Any time not spent walking around my neighborhood trying not to freak out was spent wandering in circles in my own apartment, trying not to freak out.

I'll be fine in a few days. Perhaps I'm already fine, and no one has bothered to tell me about it yet. In any case, hang in there, we'll be back to the regular posting schedule as soon as I go back to work.